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The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. That night in Paris I saw on the bills ‘Fatal Motor Accidents. Such was the simple code that displayed itself in all his thoughts. When Claude Du Val was in Newgate thrown, He carved his name on the dungeon stone; Quoth a dubsman, who gazed on the shattered wall, "You have carved your epitaph, Claude Du Val, With your chisel so fine, tra la!" "This S wants a little deepening," mused the apprentice, retouching the letter in question; "ay, that's better. I tore the marriage certificate from his pocket and burnt it. " The spinsters nodded approvingly.
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